


Life Insurance

by esteefee



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Episode Related, First Time, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-20
Updated: 2011-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-26 07:53:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Department of Veterans Affairs won't stop calling. Steve won't deal. Danny is a total mensch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Insurance

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: passing for various in S1 and 02x01, 02x05.

Steve ignored the first brief voice mail from the Department of Veterans Affairs because they were always messing up one benefit or other based on his reserve status, and he just didn't have time to deal with it, what with Hesse popping up alive again. The bastard.

The next time they called they caught Steve at home staring at the shore with a bottle of ale in his hand. Mary was gone, away, safe, thank God, the smell of her strawberry shampoo still clinging to his shirt from their goodbye at the airport. Steve was alone. The phone buzzed against his leg, and he took two seconds to look at the screen before he sent it silent and watched the glow of the sun fading against the horizon.

The third time he was out celebrating the lack of any tsunamis or being busted with the rest of his team and he answered before thinking. And then felt like a total heel, because the nice lady, Anita—kind-sounding, with a sympathetic, Louisiana drawl—was calling him about John McGarrett's life insurance benefits, of which Steven J. McGarrett was a beneficiary for one half. Steve stepped away from the bar to take the call, ignoring Chin's curious look.

_"Sir, if you give me your email address I can send you the form you'll need to fill out."_

"Sure, yeah. Thanks," Steve said. "Thanks for calling back."

Some quirk of—he didn't know what—pissiness? Irritation? made him give her not his h50.gov address, but his navy.mil address instead. Well, the issue wasn't work-related, anyway. But his old N.I. address was where all those mostly false terrorist alerts went, along with dumb forwards from his sailor buddies and announcements on ship deployments that had nothing to do with him anymore—except Cath's, and she always texted him when she came into port, anyway.

When Steve stepped back to the table, Danny said, "Who was that?"

"What, who what?" Steve reclaimed his brewski.

"Don't give me—on the phone, that's who!"

"You're so nosy, Danny."

"I'll give you nosy—I am a detective, Steve. I detect, which means I am paid by the state to be nosy on a daily basis. It's in my job description—"

"Oh, you'd be nosy even without the salary, on like, a non-retainer. In fact—" Steve raised his bottle and pointed it, "—we should get you to refund the government on a pro-rated basis." Here Danny made an indignant noise that had Chin grinning and Kono laughing. Steve smirked, adding, "For all the nosiness you nose."

"All the nose—why, I oughtta—" The way Danny was trying hard not to smile, the sun breaking behind him, shading his blond hair like a halo; having the whole team together, and _not_ having been busted for stealing ten million dollars out of the evidence locker to save Chin was making Steve dangerously sentimental, like he might say something stupid.

But all he did was lift his beer again and make a toast. "To luck, and to you guys, for being there."

Kono and Chin said, "Hipahipa." Danny was looking right at Steve and raised his bottle, clinked it softly against Steve's, quiet for once, and Steve didn't know what to make of that, of the look in Danny's eyes, except he did, sort of.

And he wasn't sure where to go with that.

:::

In spite of the efforts of Anita from Veterans Affairs, somehow either the claim form got lost or got mail filtered—or he never really looked for it, to be truthful, and Steve tried to be an upfront guy most of the time, even to himself. To be absolutely honest it was a pretty crappy couple of months, what with Danny almost dying on him—Christ—and then, gee, a little false imprisonment really made Steve's week at one point, along with getting shivved by his father's murderer.

Not to mention Kono losing her badge and then refusing to even talk to him, treating him like a haole know-nothing. Well, Steve was a haole—still was, always would be, he got that—but Kono, at least, was family, or so he'd thought. But then they learned the rookie was no rookie—she just had serious chops in the undercover department. God, he loved her, even though it burned what a risk she'd taken for them all.

But, not a good time. It was a chaos time, a bad time, and so somewhere in there, he kissed this guy, his partner, his friend.

Steve kissed Danny.

Oh, Steve asked first, stumbling like an idiot with boat-sized feet.

"It means a lot to me, everything you did for me, the way you stuck around." And then shaking his head because that was stupid, that wasn't it at all, and when Danny looked at him like he was a turtle sprouting wings, Steve had stuttered, "You gotta know, Danny. Right? I mean, you're the fucking nosy detective, here."

And Danny had smiled wide and a little nervous but a whole lot relieved, saying, "Yeah, I detect. I detect you, my friend, not that you are a huge fucking mystery," but Danny's voice was shaking, and Steve knew. He knew, and so he'd knotted his fingers in the front of Danny's stupid blue shirt, the one that always looked just a little bit creased, like someone had already been doing what Steve wanted to: grab and hang on and pull Danny close and kiss him.

So Steve did.

It was...a really busy couple of months, of weeks, and hours after that, hours of Danny spread out under him or jumping Steve as soon as he came back from his swim, so Steve found it easy to push everything else aside, and for once the chaos in his brain was quiet, there in the cool dark with the blinds closed, under the single sheet on his big bed, Danny's lips and tongue and ever-moving hands, the hard curves of his muscles and his heavy thighs. So much strength Steve didn't know what to do with it but hold on for the ride.

For the first time in a long time, things started getting better, instead of worse.

When his phone rang one afternoon it was on Danny's side of the couch while they watched the tube, and Steve didn't warn him he always screened his calls these days because he was half-drowsing, messing idly with Danny's oddly shaped toes, so Danny picked up the phone, flipping it on and passing it over without looking.

So Steve was forced to answer it. "Hey, uh, Anita, right. I'm really glad you called back, actually." Steve winced at how bad the lie sounded, and he sensed Danny turning his head to stare at him.

_"Hello, Mr. McGarrett. I never received your Form 29-4125."_

"Yeah. I'm real sorry about that; I never saw the email. Do you think you could re-send the form, maybe to my work address—?"

Anita interrupted right over him. _"Actually, if you have a computer, the easiest way would be to google the form number and just print it right out. We could do it right now if it's convenient."_

"Uh, right now? I'm not really near a computer, and this isn't, well..." God, she sounded so sweet and eager to get it done, and there was something about her southern drawl that reminded him of his 5th grade teacher down in Louisiana, Mrs. Jackson, nicest damned lady on the planet.

Just then Danny poked him hard with something. Oh, his laptop. Jesus, what a bastard.

"Okay, I've got my laptop," Steve said, gritting his teeth. "What was the form number again?"

_"Just type two nine dash four one two five in the search box. The form should come right up."_

And hell if the lady wasn't right. The very first link was to '29-4125 - U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs.'

"Got it," Steve said. "Do you want me to print it out right now?" He could feel Danny leaning over his shoulder.

_"That would be just perfect. I'll give you the insurance file, policy numbers and the insurance amount, and you can fill in the rest and fax it in with the death certificate."_

Steve swallowed. "Yeah, okay." He pulled up the form and hit print, but it was Danny who got up to go to the old office desk where the printer was, and then returned with a big frown on his face that spelled serious doom for Steve's lazy afternoon sex plans.

But he was determined to get this done finally, so he doggedly filled in all the numbers Anita dictated to him and then thanked her profusely before hanging up.

"She wants me to fax it to her," Steve said afterward, wandering over to the kitchen where Danny was pulling some bread out of the fridge. That was a good sign, actually—it meant Danny's special grilled cheese was on the horizon.

"You gonna follow through?"

"Well, yeah. Got this far, might as well."

"Might as well, might as—Christ on a donkey, McGarrett!" Danny took the form from him and glanced down at it before slapping it onto Steve's chest. "You and paperwork, I swear to holy God. Twenty grand! That is nothing to sneeze at, and you've been letting it sit—"

"Ten."

"What?"

"It's only ten and change—Mary got half, assuming she sent hers in."

Danny rolled his eyes and turned back to the fridge. "You're just unbelievable."

"Look, I don't need _money_ —"

"Well, goody for you—"

Steve blew out his breath. "That's not what I meant. I mean, everyone needs money, but I needed other things a lot more, and this-this—" he shook the sheet of paper, "this just felt like part of what I was fucking _losing_."

Danny's blue eyes snapped sharply over to his, and Steve turned to drop the form onto the counter.

"But I sorta was hoping she'd call back. Because lately...lately things have been good, you know?" Suddenly Danny stepped closer, so Steve wrapped his arms around him, grateful, so fucking grateful.

"Good? As in not insane? I can get behind that. I will agree with that summation. Conditionally."

Steve smiled and nudged his chin against Danny's temple just to hear him complain. "You interrupted my train of thought."

"Right. You were thinking 'good.'"

"I was thinking good. Great, even, things are...great."

Danny squeezed a little harder. "Go on with this thought."

"Well, so. If—they are. And with the money, I was thinking, well, I was thinking about working on the place a little, making it more, uh. Kid-friendly." Steve's clenched his jaw and waited.

"What, you're thinking monkey bars and a water-slide? Because I know a kid who would like that."

Steve laughed softly. "Well, monkey bars, good thought—but fixing up a room, maybe some new furniture..." Steve shrugged. "A Barbie Beach Fun Pool instead of the slide."

He could feel Danny grinning against his cheek. "And what about adult-type improvements?"

Steve drew back. "What, you mean a dart board? A bigger TV?"

Danny shoved him against the counter. "No, genius. I mean how about a closet that doesn't double as an armory, for starters?"

"Oh, for all those damned ties of yours?" Steve was smiling now—was helpless to stop. "I can agree to that. Conditionally."

"Oh, yeah? Predicated on what, might I ask?" Danny was trying not to laugh, Steve could tell, but his eyes always gave him away, the deep crinkles turning up the corners.

"On you—just—" Shit. Steve could feel himself locking up, but it needed saying. The form had slipped to the edge of the counter, and he pushed it back with his palm, carefully squaring the edge. Ten thousand dollars of life insurance. No insurance for anything, really, no promises. But, God, he wanted one. "Just on you."

When he looked up, Danny was smiling softly, without a trace of his usual mockery, and Steve thought maybe it was worth it, spilling it out like a damned fool.

"Sounds like a pretty good deal. I get closet space, and you get me."

Steve swallowed and nodded. "And Grace."

Danny's smile broadened. "And one monkey."

Steve thought, after he'd kissed Danny to seal the deal, while they were fixing up Danny's World Famous Grilled Cheese and Tomato (hold the bacon), that it had taken him a year—over a year—but he'd finally fax over the damned form, and would get the check for the money. Money for his father's death.

But for the first time in a long time this old house would finally be a home again.

And that—that was maybe what his dad had intended to insure, after all.

 

_End._

**Author's Note:**

> Anita's name has been changed to protect the innocent, but she really was as patient and kind and persistent as depicted.


End file.
